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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26238574">in parts, i fall, i love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicolorenaldigenovia/pseuds/nicolorenaldigenovia'>nicolorenaldigenovia</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops &amp; Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Artist Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Falling In Love, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Joe in Glasses, M/M, Meet-Cute, Minor Injuries, Muses, Strangers to Lovers, Writer Nicky | Nicolo di Genova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:15:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,667</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26238574</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicolorenaldigenovia/pseuds/nicolorenaldigenovia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Joe needs to finish this portfolio if he wants something to propose to the showcase. And he does. He really does. But someone just sat at his table because the coffee shop is so busy, and their profile is gorgeous, and yep, he’s definitely trashed the outline again because this man is definitely going to be a part of it. </p><p>  “Is there something on my face?” he hears, and Joe pauses. </p><p>  Shit. </p><p>  Joe breathes out so heavily that his glasses fog up, and he looks up to find the man giving him a hint of a smile, tilting his head slightly to the side. </p><p>  “You’re staring,” the man states and honestly, yeah, Joe is. </p><p>  “I’m not.” <i>Idiot.</i></p><p>---</p><p>or joe is an artist, and he falls in love. and nicky is along for the ride.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>611</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>in parts, i fall, i love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>written as a response to a prompt by from nicoloyusuf:</p><p>"it’s an au (i think) just artist!joe and author!nicky idk what the exact plot is maybe being each other muses"</p><p>i hope you like it!</p><p>EDIT: nicoloyusuf made a wonderful edit for it, per my request after she prompted me with this! i say this is a collaboration now. see it <a href="https://nicolorenaldigenovia.tumblr.com/post/628273578666754048/nicoloyusuf-from-in-parts-i-fall-i-love-by">here</a>!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>at first</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>How in the world did he get here?</p><p> </p><p>Joe <em>needs</em> to finish this portfolio if he wants something to propose to the showcase. And he does. He really does. But someone just sat at his table because the coffee shop is so busy, and their profile is <em>gorgeous, </em>and yep, he’s definitely trashed the outline again because this man is definitely going to be a part of it.</p><p> </p><p>“Is there something on my face?” he hears, and Joe pauses.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Shit. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Joe breathes out so heavily that his glasses fog up, and he looks up to find the man giving him a hint of a smile, tilting his head slightly to the side.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re staring,” the man states and honestly, yeah, Joe is.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not.” <em>Idiot.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p><em>“</em>Oh, so you’re just looking?”</p><p> </p><p>Joe frowns. He never just <em>looks</em>. “Admiring,” he whispers, before he can help himself, and the man’s eyes widen the slightest. Then he bows his head, his hair falling over his eyes, and Joe thinks, yeah, he’s in love.</p><p> </p><p>Wait what?</p><p> </p><p>He looks down at his sketchbook, and lets his charcoal glide across the page, allowing his mind and hands to work together for once, ever since the pressure on this damn portfolio landed on his shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>He commits the man’s face in his mind’s eye because he’s not <em>in love</em>. He’s determined.</p><p> </p><p>Yeah, that’s the word.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re drawing me?’ he hears, and Joe stops then, finally looking up.</p><p> </p><p>The man doesn’t look angry. He looks curious, actually, staring straight at him, before his eyes flicker towards the sketchbook.</p><p> </p><p>“Must you?” the man says, after a moment, and Joe’s heart drop and he feels awful.</p><p> </p><p>He looks down at the page then. He has it almost completed. It’s clear that it’s his seat companion, that barely there smile on his lips, looking down at his own notebook, hair hanging just over his eyes. Joe gulps, not wanting to lose his work.</p><p> </p><p>But he never wants to be that person.</p><p> </p><p>Joe puts down his pencil, and goes to tear off the page from his book when a steady, quick hand grabs his wrist. He blinks, looking up to find the man frowning.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing?” he asks, and Joe is honestly so confused.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m getting rid of it,” he replies, because he didn’t ask for permission when he should’ve as soon as his subject made him, and it’s not fair, but the guy’s frowning, and there’s something that flashes in his eyes, and the grip on his wrist falters a little.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.”</p><p> </p><p>And it hurts to hear because there’s disappointment in it, and Joe knows then that he’s misunderstanding something.</p><p> </p><p>“To give—“ he starts, before clearing his throat, making sure to meet the man’s gaze,  because he can see now that the thing in his eyes is hurt, and Joe doesn’t like it there. It doesn’t make sense there.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m giving it to you. I didn’t ask for permission, and I should’ve. My apologies,” he says rapidly, wanting to remedy this.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s just,” Joe begins again, because for some reason he cannot explain himself, he is desperate for this person to understand. “I need to get this portfolio done, and I’ve been struggling recently and I haven’t been able—and then you came, and it just…I couldn’t help it. I needed to chase it…” he mutters, voice trailing off, because god he sounds pathetic.</p><p> </p><p>Someone’s definitely laughing at him for sure. Mostly him, at this point, but still. Joe wants to curl up. He’s starting to feel pretty pathetic here.</p><p> </p><p>Especially since the man’s just looking at him, still holding onto his wrist, but it’s gentle and his thumb is <em>definitely</em> rubbing circles over Joe’s pulse point, and it makes him want to sigh in the safety it provides, and also run away and cry.</p><p> </p><p>“Chase what?” he hears, and it’s soft, and Joe resigns to the tenderness of it. Because you only live once, right?</p><p> </p><p>“My muse,” Joe says, accepting his fate that he is so damn pathetic in front of this stranger. He’s just going to have to figure out another way to get more pieces in. Maybe he can hit the studio, force himself to stay there until something comes out, instead of going home and laying in his actual bed for once to try and get some semblance of sleep.</p><p> </p><p>He’s pretty deep into his self-pity when Joe feels it: the slightest squeeze on his wrist, and he looks up to find the man looking at him with gentle eyes, before he lets go, fingers uncurling to tap on the back of his hand, then pulling away completely and Joe wants to chase him.</p><p> </p><p>“Truly?” the man asks, and Joe blinks. Huh?</p><p> </p><p>“Truly?” he repeats, and the man just nods, eyes still bearing straight into his soul.</p><p> </p><p>“That…you’re not throwing it away?” the man asks, and honestly, Joe’s brain short circuits. He sees him look down, and there’s unsureness in his movements, slow and heavy.</p><p> </p><p>“Surely there are better subjects,” he continues, and Joe thinks no. Definitely not.</p><p> </p><p>Does this man own a mirror?</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve been here for hours, and you’re the only one that’s got me drawing. So, I definitely disagree,” Joe answers, immediately, because really, if this man is going around thinking he’s not worth being the subject of anything, much less <em>his</em>, then he needs to hear the truth.</p><p> </p><p>And Joe is there to provide.</p><p> </p><p>He turns his sketchbook then, so that it’s facing his companion. Joe sees him blink, but he looks down at the page, just as Joe taps the timestamp he wrote, elbow on the edge of the table,</p><p> </p><p>“See? Three hours, and I only have you on here. You’re the only one that got me going,” he says, because Joe is an absolute idiot.</p><p> </p><p>He feels his face heat up just as the man flushes red just the same, looking down.</p><p> </p><p>“I see,” the man whispers, and when he looks up again, he’s giving Joe a smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Nicolo,” he says, voice soft, and Joe’s gaze follow how the man tucks his hair behind his ear, tilting his head slightly. He gulps then, mouth dry.</p><p> </p><p>“Nicolo?” Joe finds himself repeating, and he’s met with a soft laugh, gentle and sweet and beautiful as the man nods, the corner of his lips quirking.</p><p> </p><p>“Your muse.”</p><p> </p><p>And when Joe says he goes weak, he goes <em>weak. </em>His knees buckle, and his elbow slips, and his face slams on the table hard enough that the coffee shop goes <em>silent</em>, except for Nicolo, who yells.</p><p> </p><p>Because he’s a talented motherfucker, that’s why, and <em>hammering his glasses and his nose into his face with a table</em> while already sitting down was his specialty.</p><p> </p><p>But it gets Nicolo’s hands on him, asking him if he’s okay, and thank god Joe’s crying in pain because if he wasn’t, he probably would’ve yelled ‘worth it,’ and his mama definitely raised him better than that.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>immediately after</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>“Here, let me hold that for you.”</p><p> </p><p>Joe hands over his glasses with his only free hand, the other clutching the ever-melting ice bag over his face as he walks.</p><p> </p><p>“’Dank you.” Great, now he sounds like Kermit the frog. He glances at Nicolo who gives him a weak smile, walking beside him, one hand on Joe’s elbow, the other holding the rest of their things.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re welcome…” he starts, and he blinks, and yeah, Joe’s definitely an idiot.</p><p> </p><p>“Joe. Yusuf,” he mutters, moving the ice bag away with a wince, twitching his nose and yep, goddammit that hurts. “Ugh, <em>fuck</em>,” he gasps, and Nicolo grabs his elbow then, stopping his tracks.</p><p> </p><p>“We should get you sitting again,” he says, and Joe whines.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m never going back to the coffee shop.” There was no way. He made such a fool of himself. Nicolo blinks at him then, pulling at his elbow and directing them to a bench. Oh yeah, they’re walking through the park.</p><p> </p><p>It’s amazing what possibly breaking his own nose can make him miss.</p><p> </p><p>“You’d break hearts if you never come back, they were all so worried,” Nicolo says, as he directs him to sit down. Joe expects him to sit right next to him, but instead the man stands over him, after placing all of their things beside him. Then there’s a hand on Joe’s and he’s gently moving it off his face.</p><p> </p><p>“Let me see,” he asks, voice soft and Joe just lets him move his hand, wincing a little when he relives some of the pressure. And then, he stares, looking up at Nicolo.</p><p> </p><p>The man is so amazingly gorgeous. He took Joe’s glasses and has it hanging on the collar of his shirt, and his gaze is so attentively on Joe. So he drinks it all in, and  watches as his eyes flicker over his face, clearly examining. “It’s pretty bruised,” Nicolo starts. “But it’s definitely not broken,” he continues, his eyebrows furrowing and Joe hates it.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll be alright, Nicolo. Don’t worry,” he says, and the man sighs, shaking his head, and he’s taking the melted ice bag from his hand, and placing it gently on Joe’s nose. The movement is so gentle that it doesn’t even hurt, but the cold does make him flinch.</p><p> </p><p>“Cold,” he whispers, and Nicolo smiles softly, his other hand moving to gently hold his head steady, and he’s definitely stroking the skin of his forehead, and Joe finds himself relaxing a little at the ministrations.</p><p> </p><p>“This is my fault,” Nicolo starts, and Joe doesn’t like it, but the man shakes his head. “I didn’t mean my teasing to catch you off guard,” he says, and he can’t help but shrug.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not your fault I fell hard,” he says, winking at him and it takes everything in his power not to laugh in glee when Nicolo’s cheeks turn pink at his words.</p><p> </p><p>“You flatter me,” Nicolo says in a way that’s so incredibly soft, avoiding his gaze, but definitely unbelieving and Joe wants to change that. Because there’s beauty in this new stranger, and everyone deserves to know that they have that beauty within themselves.</p><p> </p><p>“Anything for my muse,” he whispers, and Nicolo meets his gaze then, gently moving the ice bag, and leaning in to press a kiss on his forehead.</p><p> </p><p>When he breathes out, it doesn’t hurt and Joe feels satisfied and complete, regardless of the ache of his nose. His mama said that love should relax you, not make your heart race.</p><p> </p><p>Is this love?</p><p> </p><p>“We can’t do very much more with this melted thing,” Nicolo says against his skin, and Joe opens his eyes, not even realizing that he had closed them. He sees him pulling away and holding up the ice bag. Or water bag. It’s definitely a water bag now. “Let me take you home?” he asks.</p><p> </p><p>Home.</p><p> </p><p>Home sounds great.</p><p> </p><p>Wait, home?</p><p> </p><p>“Mine?” he whispers, and Nicolo nods to him, already taking their things under his arm, and extending his free hand towards Joe, to help him off the bench.</p><p> </p><p>“Yours,” and Joe prays that he’s just not hearing things when he thinks that Nicolo means going to his home, and so much more.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>now</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Yusuf, must you?” Joe hears beside him, and he looks down, leaning in to kiss Nicky’s forehead, counting his lucky stars that the universe had been kind to him after he slammed his own nose on a table.</p><p> </p><p>Because he got Nicolo, and now he’s Nicky, and he’s Yusuf again to someone outside of his family, and it makes him breathe in deeply and easily when he didn’t even realize that he had been struggling at all.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, muse,” he says, eyes back on his sketchbook. The portfolio had been a success. He’s been slotted into the showcase for the end of the year, and yet, he continues to draw like his life depends on it, and it makes him soar.</p><p> </p><p>Nicky shifts under his arm, and moves to throw his leg over his own as they sit in bed, his notebook balanced on his other thigh as he continues to write.</p><p> </p><p>“And you’re <em>mine</em>, but your moving is distracting me, and I can’t have that,” Nicky mutters, and there’s no heat in his voice at all, eyes still on the page as he writes, and Joe is amazed on how he can still get stuck on the fact that Nicky calls him <em>his.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>Break a table with his face, idiot him. <em>Him</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“I exist only for your art,” Joe whispers, moving again to plant a kiss on Nicky’s temple, who hums, looking up at him now, frowning at him, and Joe leans in to kiss him softly.</p><p> </p><p>When Nicky kisses him back, and bites his bottom lip and tugs on it, Joe swears he might just fall yet again.</p><p> </p><p>“You exist,” Nicky whispers, as he pulls away, eyes bearing into Joe’s soul, before he smiles. And it’s a different one, one that he only blesses Joe with, an easy, happy grin, full of light and love, and he melts under it. Because Joe is a fool for him.</p><p> </p><p>Nicky keeps his eyes on him, lips parting again. “You exist,” he repeats, and Joe clings to it. “You exist because my heart needed you. When my heart felt at a pause and my art faltered, you came and you stared at me like I made your world, when really, you made mine.”</p><p> </p><p>Then he leans in and kisses Joe in that way that makes him want to cry with happiness. The one that made him call his mama and say, “Mama, tell Baba. I found the one.”</p><p> </p><p>Because he knows these words are for him, always and forever, whether they live in just the pages of Nicky’s notebook, or on the margins of his readers after they share them to the world. Regardless of who ends up reading these words, it’s Joe who gets to hear them aloud for it is for him, and him alone.  </p><p> </p><p>Joe meets it with vigour, dropping his pen, and grabbing Nicky by the back of his neck, deepening the kiss. And when they pull away, Nicky is smiling, his eyes bright.</p><p> </p><p>“You exist for my heart. Everything else is secondary,” he says, and when Joe feels tears in his eyes, like he has many times before, Nicky removes his glasses, kisses his tears away and loves him for it.</p><p> </p><p>And he loves him just the same, again, and again, and again.</p><p> </p><p>Because to be someone’s muse is a blessing. To be someone’s love, to be Nicky’s love, gives <em>life</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“I love you, beloved,” Joe whispers against his lips as he breathes him in, pressing in close.</p><p> </p><p>And Nicky meets him with a gasp, chasing him, breathing out. “And I love you, my heart.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>soon</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“I thought you couldn’t have me distracting you?” Joe asks, because he is, as established, an idiot.</p><p> </p><p>Nicky pauses from his place in front of the mirror, having just stepped out of a long-needed shower after said distraction. He turns, tilting his head in a way that’s reminiscent of their very first meeting. Except this time, Nicky is very, <em>very</em> naked.</p><p> </p><p>“What part of you being my <em>muse</em> do you not understand, my love?” Nicky says, smiling at him softly. Then he’s walking forward, and wrapping his arms around Joe, and he finds himself slotting his own arms around him, pressing close.</p><p> </p><p>“I commit your body to my mind and mine,” Nicky whispers, kissing his chest. “And you fuel my passion as I write,” he says, and Joe smiles.</p><p> </p><p>“I exist for your heart,” he whispers, and Nicky grins then, pinching his backside, making him yelp.</p><p> </p><p>“You exist for my art,” Nicky bites back, all love, no heat, as he walks away, and yeah.</p><p> </p><p>Yeah.</p><p> </p><p>Joe is an idiot, and very, very in love.</p><p> </p><p>“Marry me,” he yells, after his love, his muse. Nicky pauses, and looking over his shoulder then. And then he smiles.</p><p> </p><p>“Come chase me then, heart.”</p>
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